Tuesday, November 28, 2017

Why so aloof? Sometimes The Second Girl wins

If you've read much of my blog, you might have noticed a pattern that occurs when I describe social sets. I'm talking to one chick, and then her friend cuts in. You can see a prime example here. I'm not a huge fan of a lot of PUA-type theories, but I think social proof, the notion that people find something more interesting if they see others coveting it, is a solid one worth keeping mind.

This post has been on my mind for a while, but I've wanted to process it. Back in January of this year, 2017, I had met a chick at a fairly large party, north of 100 people in a private space that a friend of mine has access to. I was talking with some friends, and the conversation was getting pretty loud -- the kind of loud that attracts additional participants.

This girl who had been sitting by herself in the far corner of the room comes over, asks to sit down at the table where I'm standing. I say sure and keep going at the conversation. She's trying to participate, but she's pretty demure and this is a really loud and raucous set.

Eventually three of her friends show up and join the conversation. We're all BSing and eventually the topic turns to BDSM. One of my male friends I had been talking to and a completely separate female friend who was there are both heavy into some serious shit. I've been known to partake, too.

The Quiet Girl is intrigued and trying to steer the conversation. However, two of her three friends are much more boisterous. The one is in a committed relationship. The other is recently divorced, and she's little thick in the way I tend to like my women -- small top along with serious ass and thighs.

Every one of them is somewhere between pretty to downright knockout. The Committed Chick is a professionally trained dancer, 26, and frankly a high 9 in hawtness. The Thick Girl, 29, is a former competitive horse rider. The two demure girls are sisters, 20 and 25, both a little skinnier than I tend to like.

At some point, the conversation turn to pain tolerance. When it comes to consensual sexual violence, this is my wheelhouse. Not something I bring up much on the blog, but I don't fuckin play when it comes to hair pulling, spanking, pinching, etc. I've had partners look like they were in an auto accident when I was done.

The Thick Girl has been nudging in and trying to get my attention. She's definitely trying to cut her friends out.

At this particular moment, she decides she's gonna play big, and says she's always wanted to try BDSM. My male friend who's into it says something about having the right equipment with him, and he asks her if she wants to try nipple clamps.

Occasionally, I am possessed of the right thing to say. There are just moments where I can draw a line from A to B to C, and this was one of them. I looked at the Thick Girl and said, "No need. I can do it bare-handed."

She looks instantly interested. Pulls her shirt up. Pulls her bra down. present titties.

I look at her and say, "This is gonna hurt. I've had women say it's worse than nursing a teething child."

She laughs and leans in. I say, "Alright." I grab a nipple, and she drops to the floor in pain, barely missing the table with her face.

She's laughing, but not getting up. There's a whole room of people sort of waiting to see how this plays out. I just keep looking at her in agony.

Finally, after more than a full minute, she pulls herself up by the table. I ask her how it felt. She replies, "OMG, that was painful but I loved it!"

The room is relieved. My female friend asks her if she is okay. The Thick Girl says yes.

After a couple hours, we decide to go barhopping with the group. By this point, the Thick Girl is flying on raw energy after some dancing with me and a little more physicality (not anything quite so vicious as the initial nipple pinch, mind you).

She drifts off several times, and eventually the Quite Girl works her way over to me and we start talking. She's dropping indications of interest left and right. Knee touches, etc. Laughing at all my jokes.

I don't think too much of it because by this stage I have the Thick Girl eating out of the palm of my hand. She's grabbing drinks for the group, dancing with every guy there, laughing, and even torturing a beta male friend who's the manager of the place we settled down at to keep drinking.

I'm in full social game mode by this point. I even start up a conversation with a whole separate set of women who were there when I realize they all were alumni from the university I attended.

This ends up being an almost going til dawn kinda thing, as the two groups of women merge into one giant pile, along with me, the beta male friend, and another male friend of the first group who decides to move in on the alumni association. (Strangely enough, the Committed Girl's BF shows up, but he doesn't participate. Conversely, that dude was pretty fuckin hot in his own right, so . . . can't envy a winner too hard, man.)

Eventually the Thick Girl and I trade information and part ways. We make sure to set a date for the next weekend.

Party Hard

Next weekend comes, and I set up a date at what is as underground of a club as I know. This is the full people on Molly type place. I've seen it go to 10am. This is as sexualized a club environment as you'll ever see -- I've seen people literally fuck on the dance floor.

The Thick Girl calls me a little before midnight when we're supposed to meet up, and she's basically complaining that the Quiet Girl wants to come out with us. I don't have an issue with this, but apparently the Thick Girl is already in mate-guarding mode. I tell her to just sort it the fuck out because I'm gonna go get my party on with or without them. (Even when I have my social game on, aloof and uninvested is always a card I'm willing to play.)

Imaginably, she finds a way to appear -- without the Quiet Girl -- within ten minutes. To say things went the direction I went them to would be an understatement. And she was pretty damned vicious. This is full-on, back-and-forth, fucking up-against-the-wall in public shit. She even smacked me in the face. (Which followers of the blog will recall, is a go sign for me.)

I also win the "who has more energy game". She gave up and went home at 3am. I kept going and picked up another chick by 5am for a session of totally disposable makeout and titty play. (I'm a dedicated ass man, but damn that girl had some titties.)

By the middle of the next week, the Thick Girl is in emotionally deep. Probably a little deeper than is healthy. She's in full-bore "I need to hear your voice" at 2am on a Wednesday night mode. There's a lot of the standard barfing her emotional guts out to me stuff, which, again, you'll find happens a lot with me, as seen here.

She also gets into some comfort testing, emotional support stuff. And that's where things kind of went downhill. I told her this is a lot to pin on a guy she met a couple weekends ago and that she should be leaning on her friends for that kinda thing. Then she admits that the friend who serves that role is normally the Quiet Girl, and . . . well, you can imagine how that worked out.

This goes on like this for a couple more weeks until it becomes pretty clear to her that I'm intense but not the perfect guy. I'm a good conversationalist, but you'll find a limit to what that actually gets ya. I confess I did some pretty shitty things, like telling her about the 5am Titty Girl when she asked what I did the rest of that night. I also told her she shouldn't fuck up her friendship over a guy -- which, ya know, ladies, is actually pretty goddamned good advice.

As you can imagine, that sort of emotional and physical intensity is unsustainable. The End.

Autopsy

There's a lot to unpack from that story.

Probably the most obvious for regular readers is something to the order of "holy shit, that's a lot of social game for an aloof guy!" It is. As I've said elsewhere, though, I can roll social game hard when I feel the impulse to do so.

I do think it's funny how many times I go for the girl who cuts in. I love energy and verve from women. It works. Ladies, if you're trying to win a social set, it's definitely worth a try.

One thing that sticks out in my mind is how much women treat their close friends as sexual competitors. It never fails to amaze me how much effort they'll put into cutting in to grab a potential mate and then completely cutting their friends out in a retention effort.

I probably should have given the Quiet Girl more attention, but I've learned over the years to focus on banking the clear win when I have one lined up. You can definitely fuck yourself up trying to make a harem play or shooting for a threesome. Given the Thick Girl's later emotional outbursts and demonstrated mate guarding behaviors, I feel like that was the right play.

The Thick Girl and the Committed Girl were the queen bees of the group, and I feel pretty confident that favoring the Quiet Girl would have been a uniquely bad plan. Cutting against the queen bees when they're still present tends to backfire.

Anyway . . . for once you kids get a pretty detailed and relatively non-aloof story (if you just ignore the part where the Quiet Girl loses bigly).

Probably some good social dynamics stuff to ponder in there. A lot to be said for being a little outrageous and making yourself the center of attention in a social set. It probably helps that my male friend (the guy into BDSm who's mentioned waaaay early in the story) was a skinny dude who wasn't gettin any love from the girls at the initial party. If you can use your male friends as props, well . . . hey, at least he got to see some titties, right? He still retells that story.

There ya go. A relatively non-aloof tale from the Aloof Guy.

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

If I tossed your dog shit comment, that means it was dog shit

Comment moderation is on, people. Make peace with that fact. If I think you're trying some lame ass shit to get me to moderate a comment and show it, I'm tossing it.

My view on dumbfuck commenters is the same as what they tell you about old meat in your fridge: when in doubt, throw it out.

Monday, December 12, 2016

A Great Attention Whore, or THE GREATEST Attention Whore EVER? You decide

It's been a while since I've posted anything. That's mostly a case of why repeat the same shit. It took time, but . . . NOVELTY IS UPON US! I spent the better part of this weekend working over a single, large social group in a club setting. Infiltrating a large group isn't usually my preferred play, but this was a case where I could see an easy path forward.

The Group

The group itself consists of six women, three guys (not including me, because I'm-an-outsider-FTW). One of the guys is an ex-boyfriend of one of the chicks who just hasn't figured that fact out yet. The other two are the worst form of beta orbiters imaginable. Of the chicks, I'd say one is legitimately high-end hot, one is a full point behind her, two are legitimately cute, one is okay, and one is a legitimate slag who starts shit (God bless the commitment of female-centered groups to keeping one genuine "why do you even talk to her" chick in the group).

The females I'd count as a solid 8, two 7s, a 6, a 5, and a soft 3.5 (I'm kindly awarding the slag an additional half point for at least being clean, dressed decently, and doing her hair -- even slags deserve an attaboy. Remember ladies: got yer hair did is a full half-point.). All three of the guys are beta enough to not count.

The Situation


The problem is that the one 7 is a monstrous attention whore. As you might guess, the two beta orbiters basically spent the whole weekend backing up dump trucks full of affirmation and pouring it on her.

She's a super-cute spinner type who, frankly, could upgrade her game a little and improve a full point. She's a skinny but not in-shape person who could easily tighten her body up and get hotter, but she's also the motor of the group. She's the one dancing with everybody, the one singing karaoke, etc. Those beer carbs giveth, and they taketh away.

To say the 8 knows her status in the group would be an understatement. The betas aren't even allowed to talk to her, and she seems to be the only one in the group who was allowed to shit test me.

The other 7 ended up being my real target. Pretty blonde girl with a big enough butt to make her self-conscious. She didn't let guys grind on her or anything the whole weekend -- and this is a majority black club, so that's some real effort on her part. Demure, well-behaved, put-together type who parked herself next to me when we went for food at the end of the second night, and she kept finding ways to quickly touch me and then pull away before it became too forward. That sort of behavior in women is the fast path to having my attention.


Enter the Attention Whore

This is the point where the Attention Whore made what I can only call the least subtle move I have ever seen a chick make. Three of us were seated along the bar while our food was coming out (me, the 8, and the blonde 7) and turned to watch people doing karaoke. Attention Whore and the orbiters were, no surprise, doing karaoke because, ya know, hell is other people. The 6, the 5, the slag and the boyfriend got lost at some point.

When my order came, I stood up, turned around and asked the bartender for some ketchup. I gamed her a little bit, we chuckled, whatever. Those nice, fun, mini practice games are always a good way to get your energy up.

I suddenly feel the Attention Whore literally pushing against me as she leans across the bar. She's parked herself in the seat I just vacated, and she's trying to achieve as much body-to-body contact as possible.

The 8 and the blonde 7 shut down instantly. All banter done. All talk done.

I literally grabbed the chair and lifted it and her a full foot away from me to convey my displeasure. One of the beta orbiters ambles over and tries meekly to game her, and I do everything in my power to redirect her bullshit toward him. Finally, I just turn and start eating because food.

Did I say the Attention Whore wasn't subtle? She moves back over, but this time settles for elbow-to-elbow contact. (For those who think women don't do game, just remember this chick was recalibrating!) She leans in, asks if she can have some of my french fries. There's like one-quarter of the GDP of Idaho sitting there, so I told her have at.

Sure enough, the shit-testing 8 doesn't miss a beat. "Are you really just gonna let her eat your fries like that?"  I said something to the effect of "I don't need all of that. She's doing me a favor." (Apparently, you can fail a shit test by not displaying an appropriate level of food aggression! Next time I guess I'll just have to snap a 95-pound girl's wrist to make sure the queen bee knows I'm a legit insanity wolf.)

I resume eating, and for grins I start talking up the beta orbiter and no one else. All bitches are on lockdown until further notice.

Did I say the Attention Whore wasn't subtle? She taps me on the shoulder and starts trying to feed me. I wave her off and say, "Don't get weird." (Yes, I dropped a People of Earth joke on her.)

Both of the beta orbiters are moving in, and I try to work them into the conversation in order to enforce the freeze out. The blonde 7 senses the opening and tries to get back in the game, but don't worry because the Attention Whore isn't subtle. She gets up for a second, adjusts her chair and sits down facing the blonde while simultaneously forcing ass-to-crotch contact with me. A minute later, the 8 cuts between the blonde and the Attention Whore. The blonde is now literally being double-covered by the two most socially dominant females in the group.

Apparently, the 8 is very committed to her food aggression plan, because she starts taking french fries without asking and even manages to swipe a half-eaten chicken finger. I confess at this point I'm feeling rather dispirited and wondering why the fuck I deviated into group game, which is not my preferred game.

The Attention Whore now decides to grab a wad of french fries, jams them two inches away from my mouth and says, "It's not weird." My inner white trash peeks out at that moment, because I glared at her and said, "I don't know you ferfuck. It's weird." She puts the fries down and pushes her ass into me. She then offers the fries again, muttering and pouting,"It's not weird." I push her hand down, but I did give her a pretty good squeeze on the ass cheek because I'm honestly at the point where, fuck it, I'm not even the one running game at this point and I know it.


A Slag Appears


I fucking swear women can smell from a mile away when a superior member of their group is trying to ice the deal with a guy. The slag comes into the bar from outside and immediately invokes some sort of treaty obligation under the Slag-Attention Whore Axis demanding backup in her full-blown attempt to make the 5's soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend status official. This is full shit-starting five-alarm slaggery, complete with claims that he threatened to hit her.

Faced with having to abandon her positional advantage, the Attention Whore suddenly becomes the sanest and most reasonable person on earth. "Is 5 in a safe spot?" "Sure, next door at the pizza place." "Are they going anywhere?" "No." "6 is with her, right?" "Yeah." "Then leave it the fuck be."

Clearly, Henry Kissinger was right: great powers don't commit suicide to save their allies.

Don't worry, the 8 now senses her chance to fuckin ruin everything for everyone. A full demonstration of the 8's social dominance ensues, as she grabs the blonde 7 by the arm and pushes the two beta orbiters out the door to ride posse on the destruction of her friend's relationship. The Attention Whore has "dafuq" written all over her face, but once the rest of the group is outside, she follows without saying a word to me.

I ask the bartender where the bathroom is and go take a piss. Eventually I walk outside and past the pizza place. At this stage, apparently the 5 is now fighting to preserve her boyfriend's status with all the other group members in full-bore pitchfork mode. The now-ex-boyfriend sees me walking away from the pile and asks if I care if he walks with me. We get about half-a-block before the slag goes into full screaming bitch mode and draws the ex-boyfriend back into the fight. At this point, I'm prepared to amputate above the knee, so I leave him to his fate and go find my car a couple blocks away.


Autopsy


As I'm writing all of that out, I'm realizing there are other moving parts definitely in play besides the Attention Whore. Clearly I walked into a situation where the knives were already out, and I totally failed to ask the question, "What y'all holdin behind yer backs?"

I've never dealt with a group situation that got this ridiculous, but there's a sick sort of beauty to how it all unfolded. I start out feeling like I have the situation on a good track with the blonde 7, but I literally turned my back for a minute and a fuckin prairie war breaks out.

I'm not even clear what the fuckin 8 who dominated the group was trying to accomplish. I wouldn't rule out the possibility this was a case of her pissing on everyone just to remind them who the fuck is queen bee. My best guess was that she was trying to contain the two 7s and maintain an option to make a move only after she administered her shit tests.

As best I can tell, the major mistake I made was making a clear play for the blonde 7 when my assessment of her status (relatively high, though artificially inflated due to my preference for how she comported herself) did not match the group's assessment. I had her ranked 2 of 6 while the group had her ranked 3 of 6, and the group's #2, the Attention Whore, was willing to engage in carpet bombing to achieve her goal.

In short . . . "women, right?!" Or maybe it's "people are the worst." I mean, why not Seinfeld? I already have Sartre and Chekov's Gun worked into the story.

So . . . yeah . . . it takes a lot to make me publish these days, but there ya go.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Dear Abby needs to hire someone with game

The quote:

My husband of two years is every girl's dream man - the kindest, gentlest, most patient guy. He loves me for everything, including my flaws. I honestly believe he is the only one who could ever handle me.

So why am I cheating on him?

And the answer:

You're playing at matrimony as if it were a game instead of a deep, enduring partnership.  

Hahahahahaha!! It is a game. LOLz were had. This bitch is never gonna get her gina tingles going from this poor sad sack of a guy.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

How I see the world as a deeply uninvested male

Something that's been floating around my mind lately is the idea of how women objectify men like me, but they wish -- magically / somehow -- that a guy like me is going to come around and be nice. The entire romance novel industry is based on this premise, and like all forms of pornography, that's a clue as to how realistic it is.

A big chunk of what makes women so fucking dangerously nuts is that they think they're going to somehow magically split the difference on this one, gaining the interest of a male they see as an ideal alpha / dominant / billionaire with an 8-inch dick who can fly and then stuffing him into a container where he'll be awesome and fun and domesticated and loyal to her. Minding you, the minute he concedes to any of this, her attraction begins to drop like a rock.

With a guy like me, it's worse because I make it very clear upfront that zero concessions are going to be made. I'm not even gonna be bothered to lie to you even once in order to sleep with you. I am direct and honest about how I do things, and this leads to lots of pouting from women.

The logic on the female side is that she gains validation from every concession that an alpha male makes in order to sleep with her. That is what makes me a deeply infuriating guy: you're not getting a single concession from me. You can take that snatch of yours anywhere you damned well please, because I am not making any concessions. Pussy just ain't that important to me.

The cosmic joke of this is that women are wired to freak the fuck out when a guy does that. The lack of a single concession by a prospective mate makes him more attractive. And there are women who get completely jacked on that feedback loop. No concessions raises attraction, and then the higher attraction level makes her want to push harder.

The problem is that there's no exit from that loop. That's where I end up dealing with women who end up screaming at me, shoving me and having to be escorted away by security. They don't know how to jump out of the loop, so they basically escalate until they're left with no remaining option except violence and threats.

Something that's hard for me to get across to women is this: if you like me, hooray, but forget trying to make me do or be anything you want me to be. Just skip it, because it's not happening.

As I said, what's hilarious is that women lose there shit when a guy treats them this way. I was messaged a couple weeks ago on a kink website by a chick. I looked at her profile, saw she wasn't into anything I was really into and I told her that there's nothing there and she needed to move on. Also, if I'm being 100-percent honest, she could have used to lose 30 pounds and 5 years.

Did she move on?

Oh, hell no! Instead, she responds by telling me how much that raises her interest. I tell her several times, not gonna happen. That leads to attempts at initiating a longer conversation. I'll humor that as long as its not completely retarded. Then eventually she drops "aren't you gonna try me before you deny me?"

OMFG. I can't imagine being so hard-up that I'd ever say anything like that to anyone.

I will say that it never helps that I tend to go soft on women who aren't at the top of the heap in looks. I'll never drop a pure "fuck off" on them. I do this for the same reason you wouldn't punch a retarded kid: it's not cool to be mean to those who can't really defend themselves.

My point, ultimately, is that women go ga-ga over uninvested men, and then they get pissed when it turns out that univested men tend not to get very invested.

I think it's great that you want to feel good about yourself. Have at. I just think it might be a little wiser to find someone other than me to scratch that itch.